


the monster under your bed

by blerghie



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: AU where Kaneki became the CCG's property and kanou's experiment early on, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, his mom died when he was a baby and his aunt is actually the worst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 13:06:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16219649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blerghie/pseuds/blerghie
Summary: He’d been bred as the CCG’s greatest weapon. The wildcard of all wildcards. The demon even the Grim Reaper can never kill.(And then, on his eighteenth birthday, he escapes.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> still deliberating the ships lmao. wrote this for fun bc i dreamt about it idk. un-beta'd, read at own risk.

The laboratory seems to be his second home nowadays. He prefers the Garden, with open grass and a bright sun. Perfect for reading, even if Souta tries to make the occasional grab at his books. What a clown. But Arima-san was always there to stop him, and at least Souta’s usually too enamored to pay attention to Kaneki when Rize-chan’s close by.

The laboratory is too cold, though. He remembers the word ‘antiseptic’ from one of his books, and it had been described as sharp and medicinal and a touch too sterile. Maybe that’s what Kaneki smells now. A cold cleanliness that punches through his nostrils and sharply bites at his throat.

The double doors creak open. “Ah, Kaneki-kun, good to see you.” Kanou-san is nice. He has a pleasant face and a soothing enough voice, but Kaneki can’t help but feel discomfort around him. “You’re looking healthy today. Have you been eating enough?”

“I have,” Kaneki says. Kanou-san gestures for him to seat himself on the examination table.

The food that the Garden gives him looks very similar to what they give Rize and different from what they give to others, but Kaneki always seems to get bigger portions. It tastes good enough, albeit repetitive. Sometimes it tastes disgusting, like it’s rotten. Rize-chan always enjoys hers, though. She loves to eat, and if Kaneki’s food tastes good on a particular day, he gives a bit of his food to Rize-chan’s plate.

Kanou-san rubs alcohol onto his arm, legs, lower back and temple before attaching the electrodes onto him. It’s very quiet when Kanou-san sets up the equipment, just the squeaking of the ECG’s trolley wheels, or clicks and turns of knobs and buttons, or tiny little beeps from whatever Kanou-san’s using.

“Please lie down, Kaneki-kun,” Kanou instructs. Kaneki obeys, and an x-ray is positioned over his body. “Turn to the right—now to your left. All right. Very good.” Kaneki doesn’t move when Kanou-san goes to his work desk and writes about his observations for the day. “You’re turning five this April, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Kanou-san.”

“Any plans?”

Kaneki doesn’t answer. Plans? What plans? Kanou-san’s pencil scribbles on the paper, and Kaneki can hear it so loudly even when he’s two meters away.

“No plans, then?” Kanou-san says. “A shame. It’s not every day you turn five years old. You should let Arima take you to a…hmmm, no, that wouldn’t work.” He mumbles the last part to himself more than he says it to Kaneki.

“I don’t understand.” April 2nd is just a day that commemorates his birth. He already turns older with each day that passes. Nothing really special about it.

Kanou-san stops writing. Kaneki can almost hear him think. “I see,” he murmurs. “Hm. Well, nevermind that, then. Kaneki-kun, here are the results for the day.”

It’s the usual—normal and healthy vitals, though his ‘kakuhou’ is still dormant and his Rc Cells are still within the normal range. Kaneki doesn’t know what a kakuhou is, just that it’s located just over his kidneys and under a small of his back. Most of the biology books in the Garden don’t describe anything found below a kidney, or anything dormant that would be activated as time goes by other than those of puberty.

Rc Cells are nutrients, though, Kaneki knows. Specifically, he doesn’t have much of an understanding as to what they are and what they do other than as ‘nutrients.’

“Did Arima come with you here?” Kanou-san questions. Kaneki nods. “I’ll have my assistant call him in, then. Would you like something to eat in the meanwhile? Ah, and I still need to give you your injections.”

“I already ate breakfast, Kanou-san,” Kaneki says politely, but Kanou-san’s already opening the mini fridge from the corner, taking out a small tupperware with globs of dark red inside.

“You’re a growing boy, Kaneki-kun,” Kanou-san admonishes. “Here, eat.”

By the time Arima had arrived, Kaneki had already finished what’s left of inside the Tupperware and Kanou-san has just thrown away the needle he’d used on Kaneki inside a tiny jar of other needles, and placing the syringe in a washbasin. The injection mark on Kaneki’s forearm was already gone.

“Arima-san,” Kaneki greets. He climbs down the examination table and darts to Arima’s side.

“Ken,” Arima-san says, crouching down to his eye level and ruffling his hair. He’s the only one who’s ever called Kaneki by his first name. It’s jarring, at times. “How was the check-up today?”

“It was fine,” Kaneki says. “Just the usual.”

Arima hums, and then takes out a handkerchief to wipe at Kaneki’s mouth. It’s a very sudden move that makes his cheeks turn red, but before he can say or do anything in retaliation, Arima’s already refolding the handkerchief and tucking it back into his pocket. “You had a stain in the corner of your mouth. Learn to eat without a mess, Ken.”

“Yes, Arima-san,” Kaneki says with a pout. The corner of Arima’s mouth twitches as though in amusement, but he doesn’t say anything, just stands up and lets Kaneki hold his hand as they pass by Kanou-san and through the doors of the laboratory.

“We’ll be returning to the Garden, Kanou-sensei,” Arima says curtly.

“Of course. Be careful on the way, Arima, Kaneki-kun.”

He doesn’t look back, and neither does Arima-san. He and Kanou-san have always been cold to one another, barely acknowledging each other’s presence when they’re in the same room. Kaneki doesn’t know why, and figures that it’s some bizarre adult thing that he’ll be able to understand when he’s older.

But for now, he’s nothing but confused.

“Arima-san,” Kaneki says as they walk towards the Sunlit Garden’s gates.

“Yes, Ken?”

“Why do you hate Kanou-san?”

Arima-san stops in his step. Since he’s holding Kaneki’s hand, Kaneki’s forced to stop as well. “I do not…hate him,” Arima-san then says, turning to Kaneki. “I only—I disagree with him. About a lot of things. But I do not hate him.”

“Oh.” Kaneki shuffles a bit. Arima-san’s lips twitch in response. Kaneki knows he’s lying, or that he’s hiding something from him, and Arima-san knows that Kaneki knows. “Okay. I see.”

Arima-san doesn’t defend himself with a verbal response, only places his hand atop Kaneki’s head and lets it rest there. He nods. “All right.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is Kanou Akihiro’s most successful prototype. That is all you need to know about Centipede.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i am slow at writing, i'm actually really sorry haha. college is harder than i thought and that's saying something lmao :'( anyway here's a poor excuse of a chapter.
> 
> unbeta'd, un-proofread. again, i'm so sorry.
> 
> ALSO: i decided it's arisasa/kane. i am arisasa/arikane trash. i need more content so i made it. u should stop reading if u don't like it haha :')

_He is Kanou Akihiro’s most successful prototype. That is all you need to know about Centipede._

That was how the Bureau Director had described Kaneki Ken—‘Centipede,’ now. Koori doesn’t know what to think anymore, if he’s going to be completely honest with himself.

He wonders if he should read Centipede’s files more closely; he already knows the mission objective, after all. Capture Centipede—Kaneki Ken—and depending on the circumstances, detain him or exterminate him. Clear-cut and straightforward with no loopholes, no twists.

And yet.

Koori doesn’t think he has a right to be so curious, to be so…skeptical—he was promoted to First Class, yes, but does that merit such curiosity? He’s not Arima Kishou, or a Special Class Investigator. He’s not even an Associate Special Class yet, even though he’s doing his best to work up to it.

His index finger taps once, twice, on the thick sleeve covering his forearm, where his hand is tucked into as his arms are crossed. It’s not as though he’s questioning his superiors. He only wants the details. Director Yoshitoki hadn’t said anything about restrictions on Centipede’s files, and considering Koori’s involvement with the ghoul’s extermination, there really shouldn’t be a problem.

Twenty minutes later, he’s in the CCG’s archives, sat against a shelf with one of Centipede’s records in his lap. It’s one of the more known information about him: his emergence, possible alliances, places where he operates, and his last known whereabouts. Koori’s read this before, when he first heard he might be assigned to Centipede, but it’s a public record with no mention of a ‘Kaneki Ken’ or previous affiliation with the CCG. No specifications or previous histories. Close to useless.

He closes it just as he hears “Ui-san?” behind him.

It’s Hairu Ihei. She steps in front of him, and he looks up at her. Only a Rank One Investigator, but very clearly fit enough for a First Class rank if she were more responsible. Even so, she’s still part of the Arima Squad, and is still very much Koori’s first choice for a partner. “Rank One Ihei, what are you doing here?”

“Nothing much,” she says cheerily, her eyes closing in mirth before her expression degrades to a pout. “But Mado-san sent me to collect previous records of the Gourmet. The archives are so gloomy, don’t you think?”

Koori looks around. “It’s all right,” he says, and Hairu sticks her tongue out at him.

“What are _you_ doing here, then, Ui-san?” she says.

“Same as you, for the most part,” Koori says, after a brief and silent deliberation. He gathers the papers in his lap, neatly reorganizing them before standing and patting at the dust gathering along the seam of his coat.

Hairu peeks at the files. “Ah,” she says. “Centipede.”

Hairu is a very cheerful person. Her cheerfulness is one of the first few things Koori had noticed about her. Another is the sudden shift of her cheerfulness when it comes to certain subjects. Like Centipede. During the meeting with Arima Squad, Hairu had been uncharacteristically sharp-tongued and cold. She’d never been like that when discussing any other assignment, just this one in particular.

Koori taps a finger against the folder, thinking. “It’ll be an easy task to exterminate Centipede once we discover his coordinates,” he tells her. “There is no need to worry, Rank One Ihei.”

Hairu offers a blank-eyed stare, though a smile is still curled over her lips. “Thank you for the reassurance, Ui-san,” she says, “but I’m not worried.”

A pause. “Ah.” Koori doesn’t know what to say.

Hairu’s eyes crinkle, her smile growing. “We have Arima-san, after all,” she says cheerily. “Say, Ui-san, do you want to go through the Bureau Director’s archives? I think you’d have a better chance of gaining information on Centipede if you look there.”

“I don’t have clearance.”

Hairu smiles a little too brightly. “That's fine. We won’t be needing clearance.”

 

“You need to build your stamina,” Kaneki says, matter-of-factly, and then dodges the sudden wave of crystallized spikes that make their way towards him. Kaneki gently lands on one of the many crates discarded in the abandoned factory. “And you need to spread out your wings—and no, Ayato-kun, that’s not a metaphor at all.”

“Fuck _off,”_ Ayato snarls and launches himself upward, towards Kaneki, who quickly jumps away from another wave of Ayato’s spikes, leaping from one pile of crates to another. He’s already exhausted from what Kaneki could tell. His chest heaves, and he’s breathing through his mouth. His temple drips with sweat. His kagune doesn’t shine as brightly as it did when they’d started.

“I think,” Kaneki says, jumping from the crate and onto the floor, “that’s enough for the day. Very good, Ayato-kun.”

Ayato’s face is a perpetual frown, but it runs much deeper after Kaneki’s compliment. He’s actually kind of scary like this, his body in an offensive position, kagune still blazing from between his shoulder blades, pupils glowing bright red in the dark.

Like an angry tired predator, lurking about its traipsing prey.

“Don’t lie to me,” he spits out, but the dark of his sclera recede and his red eyes turn back to its shade of blue. He lets himself drop to the ground, his back to the dirty floor with his limbs splayed out.

“Scary,” Kaneki murmurs, hiding a close-lipped smile.

There’s a sudden creak from the steel bars above, but Kaneki can smell Eto’s distinguishable and overwhelming scent from anywhere.

“I see you’ve started training the little puppy,” Eto remarks from her seat. Kaneki looks up. She’s still covered in bandages with a cloak of red thrown over her head and body, sitting on one of the exposed steel of the rooftop where the corrugated roof had fallen apart, her legs swinging back and forth in alternate motions.

“I’m not a fucking dog,” Ayato growls, though weakly.

“He has very good speed and agility,” Kaneki says, dropping to where Ayato is and sitting by his side, cross-legged. “Unfortunately, that concludes everything he’s good at.”

The unmistakable sound of a kakugan emerging—tightening tendons around the eye, the slick bulging of the veins—before the onslaught of a dozen spikes—

Kaneki already predicted it all too well. His kagune’s already out, piercing out from his back, solidifying and hardening around him—

The spikes find themselves embedded into Kaneki’s disgusting kagune, thick and large with growling mouths along the tentacles. He doesn’t really know how they evolved to this form, one so similar to Eto’s that she had a hard time containing her giggles when Kaneki had first showed it to her.

“Ah,” Kaneki says. His kagune dissolves into a reddish mist, Ayato’s crystals, piercing it before, clattering to the ground. He smiles at Ayato, whose kakugan still glow ever so menacingly at him while in a stance meant for defense despite his earlier attack. “Too slow.”

“Fuck you.”

“You did tell me not to lie.”

With effort, Ayato heaves himself up with a soft grunt. He walks away with as much dignity as he could muster after being so thoroughly beaten—twice. Kaneki watches him exit through the doorway, barely registering Eto jumping from her comfortable seat on the steel raft to stand next to him, her footfalls quieter than should be.

“I’ve got a mission for the two of you,” Eto says. “As Aogiri executives, I expect you to lead the operation without much fanfare. Think you can handle that, Centipede-kun?”

Kaneki turns to face her, regarding her closely. Eto is perpetually covered in bandages from head to toe. It’s hard to discern an expression you can’t see. “Is that really all you came to tell me, Eto?”

“Very sharp of you, Kaneki-kun,” Eto says. “Didn’t expect less from Arima’s Pet Angel.”

“Or you’re just someone who doesn’t see me just to talk about something we’ve already talked about,” Kaneki points out. Ayato had still been within hearing distance, and if Arima's part of the conservation, he shouldn't be there to hear it. He's gone now, though, probably wallowing in angst and anger like the teenager he is. Kaneki crosses his arms. “I’ll be meeting with him during the operation then?”

“He wants to talk,” Eto says before sighing. “Really, the two of you—I hope our plan doesn’t do a one-eighty because of a lover’s quarrel. There’s a reason I don’t include them in my writings.”

“No, you only include hefty paragraphs of parental issues,” Kaneki says. Eto makes a noise of disapproval at that, but does not disagree. He shifts his feet. They’re alone in this little factory, the moon high in the sky. It’s quiet, with only the nightly breeze softly billowing in the air. It reminds him of his time at the Chateau. He doesn’t like it. “You know, Eto, I don’t understand either of you.”

There’s a full beat of silence between them before Eto deigns to speak. “What do you mean, Kaneki-kun?” Her tone is playful, as always. Kaneki cannot discern her, as always.

“This—“ He stops, because this is a battle he’s fought before, once, twice, thrice—with Eto or with _him,_ and the results would just be as confusing and befuddling as the last. It would be useless to bring it up again. Unwittingly, he cracks his finger. The crack echoes through the warehouse. “No. Nevermind.”

He thought, before, that he’d understood _him_. He could read his emotions like an open book on display, but now he thinks he’s never read between the lines. He knows the events, but never the context. What an idiot.

Eto taps her foot on the ground, crushing dirt under her heel. “We want you to ask questions, you know,” she says. “We don’t want a blind dog chasing after his master, after all. You’re not a slave to be controlled. That is not our end game.”

“I appreciate that,” he says, curt.

“So you don’t have questions?”

“I do,” Kaneki says, honestly. “I definitely have more questions than appropriate. But not now. Maybe when—“ He stops again. “Maybe when I think it’s the right time.”

Although he can’t see it, he thinks she may be smiling. “The right time,” she repeats. “All-righty, then, Kaneki-kun.”

 

On the eve of Kaneki’s 18th birthday, alarms had sounded from within Cochlea.

He’d been placed in Cell 4 and regularly injected with Rc suppressants alongside every one of his meals. It had been approximately 6 months since he was placed there and he didn’t have a plan—nor did he deign to create one—to escape. He had no energy for it, and the suppressants were specialized—he couldn’t think of anything else beyond his meal times and the voice in the back of his head, deep, guttural, sounding as though the mouth from whence it came from was in a perpetual grin.

_Kaneki-kun, what’s one thousand minus—_

_Skritch. Skritch._

It’s very quiet in Cell 4. Kaneki thinks he’s really the only one there. He’s alone with only his thoughts for company. And what wretched company they are.

Even then, he doesn’t notice alarms from above, meshing together with the voices of panic from the wardens and interrogators.

Neither does he notice his cell door being opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit 1/12/19: the 'pet angel' part, and kaneki internally roasting ayato


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He notices Ui carrying a thick file folder with a black cover. It’s one he immediately recognizes. He was, after all, the one who’d written it, compiled it, and archived it. But he makes no mention of it.

On the way from another Whack-a-Mole operation in the 14th Ward, Arima stops by a tiny bookshop just on the outskirts, picking up a pocket novel with a rather worn cover. ‘The Metamorphosis,’ by Franz Kafka. He stares at it in deliberation, at the white lines on the spine and the crooked edges of the pages. It has a centipede on the cover rather than the usual cockroach or beetle.

He already has two copies of it, albeit with different covers, in his living quarters, worn from loved rereadings, the pages already falling from the spine. They need another trip to a bookbinder.

He stares at it, Gregor Samsa’s beady eyes dragging his attention to the cover and the cover alone, and then decides to buy it. The shopkeeper looks rather baffled at Arima; perhaps it’s the clothes. He’s still wearing his standard CCG uniform.

After, he returns to the 1st Ward to write his daily report.

The CCG Headquarters past 10pm is usually deathly silent. Majority of the workers have already left and went home, though there are a handful—investigators, assistants—still working overtime. The only sounds across the entire building were the light scuffing of shoes against the marble floor or the occasional murmurs uttered under one’s breath. It’s still very peaceful. It’s why Arima prefers writing his reports during the later hours.

Before, though, he made sure to finish early. Because.

Well. That is a dangerous train of thought.

He heads to his office with Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis tucked under his left arm, his hand holding IXA still in its briefcase form.

His office door is unlocked. There is someone in his office. _Doesn’t exactly matter, now does it,_ Arima thinks, and opens it.

“Special Class Arima,” greets First Class Ui Koori instantly as Arima enters. “Good evening. I’m sorry to disturb you on such short notice.” He’s fidgeting in front of Arima’s desk, something quite uncharacteristic of him. Usually, he’d smoke if he were nervous whilst keeping a façade of a calm demeanor, but Arima’s not in the position of judging him for his quirks.

“Good evening,” Arima says. He walks toward his desk, past Ui, and settles IXA underneath it. Franz Kafka is placed on his desk, with Gregor Samsa’s beady centipede eyes staring at him.

He notices Ui carrying a thick file folder with a black cover. It’s one he immediately recognizes. He was, after all, the one who’d written it, compiled it, and archived it. But he makes no mention of it. He says, instead, “It is no problem, First Class Ui. May I ask your business, then?”

“It’s regarding Operation Centipede, sir,” Ui says. “If you do not mind.”

It makes Arima pause. He does mind, actually. This topic discomforts him. _But_ that’s a personal matter; as a Special Class Investigator, he should be open to inquiries. He sits. “Of course. Continue.”

Ui slides the thick folder onto the desk, opening it to a specific page number. Kaneki Ken, aged 8. It was the report written by the Bureau Director regarding Ken’s transfer from the Sunlit Garden to the Chateau in the 23rd Ward, just beside Cochlea and hidden away from public view. Nowadays, the Chateau is lonely and empty, though Arima visits it, unabashedly off the record, from time to time.

“Centipede was raised in the Sunlit Garden. Same as you and Rank One Ihei,” Ui says, though not accusing, surprisingly. He states it in a very matter-of-fact tone. “Why was he kept a secret?”

“Did you obtain clearance for that file?”

“Arima-san. Please.”

A pause. “Isn’t it obvious?” Arima says. He doesn’t mean it scathingly, but he always did have a harsh intonation that makes Ui flinch. Even so, he continues, “Kaneki Ken was an illegal and unethical experiment, and most importantly, a dangerous one. Now the CCG is paying the price for conducting such an experiment.” He knows of Ken’s life story—the entirety of it, no matter how much he’d deny Arima’s knowledge.

Gregor Samsa stares at him from where he lays trapped in a book cover. Arima feels a twinge of upset that he tries to ignore.

“Centipede—he’s a _kakuja,”_ Ui says. “And, according to this, he was experimented on as a-an infant.”

The way he’s speaking now makes it hard for Arima to decipher what he’s trying to say exactly. But he can infer the implications despite the disjointed thoughts. Maybe the panic and the disgust he should have felt during the meeting about Centipede is finally catching up to him.

“Yes. That’s correct. Though ‘toddler’ would be more accurate. We’d turned him into a half-ghoul when he was approximately 18 months old and we’ve fed him ghouls, primarily, during his tenure,” Arima says bluntly.

“He was a child.”

“The Washuus had rights to him,” Arima says. Even as he says it, cold seeps into his stomach and he bites back the sneer he wants to make. “After the transplant, he was, in all technicalities, a ghoul, and by law, one could claim rights to a ghoul. Before his escape, Centipede’s rights had belonged to the Bureau Director.”

Ui doesn’t look very calm when he asks, “How was he even kept a secret?”

Arima tilts his head. “He would be assigned to me during our missions, which controlled him, at the very least, and I always was assigned to the more discreet excursions.” And by discreet excursions, he really means the dirtier higher-risk jobs in the bowels of Tokyo. He leans forward. “He was stronger than our investigators, which was precisely why he’d been created. However, we hadn’t taken into account his mental stability.”

Or lack thereof. He’s not sure if Jason had been the precursor to Ken’s mental degradation, or if he had simply been one trigger out of many. But no matter how one looks at it—Jason had been Arima’s fault. Mostly. Primarily.

 _Fuck Eto,_ Arima thinks, unbidden.

“He went berserk once, and he was confined in Cell 4, in Cochlea. You reported his escape,” Ui says, after a long minute of silence. “You said he was already long gone when you reached his cell.”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Someone broke him out.”

“That is our theory, yes.”

“And you—we’re still not telling the rest of the CCG? Outside of Arima Squad, or outside of the council—the Washuus created a monster that _someone_ knows about enough to break him out of _Cochlea,_ and all we’re doing—”

Arima holds up a hand to silence him. “This will not be released to the public,” he says coldly, his tone final. “Not even to the other Special Class Investigators, not to your colleagues—not to anyone who is not assigned to Centipede. The higher-ups of the CCG has entrusted us with Centipede, and our job is to keep that trust. Understood, First Class Ui Koori?”

It almost looks like Ui was going to argue. Arima wishes he would. But Ui only sighs, tiredly, angrily, and says, “Yes, Special Class Arima Kishou.”

It is unfair to Ui that Arima feels disappointment. “Is that all your inquiries, then, First Class Ui?”

“Yes, sir,” he replies, bowing low. “Thank you for accommodating me and my questions.”

He leaves without much fanfare, and Arima is alone once again with only Gregor Samsa for company.

He looks particularly disapproving today.

 

Kaneki had always been book-smart. He’d taken to the simple children’s books assigned to him by the Garden’s private tutors, and then to primary level textbooks that had taught him the basics for english, science and mathematics. Kishou would smuggle books to the Chateau when he’d moved there. For most of his life in his lonesome shelters, all he had for company were the books he’d hide in the bathrooms and toilet rooms, the only places without security cameras watching his every move.

He never really thought his love and affinity for academics would be applicable to a scenario like this. He’d laugh, really, if he weren’t in so much pain.

 _“_ Ah-ah- _ah,_ Kaneki,” Jason says from behind him. Kaneki hears the creak of his pliers. “I didn’t tell you to stop, now did I?”

“I—”

And then he screams. The pliers had latched to his index finger, squeezed, “Please, no, stop, please _please, please—” squeezed, pulled —_

“Ka-ne-ki,” Jason sings, throwing another finger into a half-filled bucket.

“No more please no more no more _no more no more—”_

Jason places a heavy hand on his head, fingers gripping his hair. “Ahh—you know you don’t have much of a choice, little Kaneki.”

He tightens his hold on his hair and— _pulls._ He feels a chunk of skin tear off together with his hair, feels tiny rivulets of blood down his neck. He wants to scream himself hoarse but—

“Ka-ne-ki,” Jason sings once again, and Kaneki cannot feel his head or his fingers or his still-regenerating toes when he finishes with, “tell me: what’s a thousand minus seven?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so unsatisfied with this chapter skksksksks
> 
> also i'd just like to share, college is kicking my ass harder than kaneki broke half of ayato's bones

**Author's Note:**

> i have a tumblr at blerghie.tumblr.com btw if u wanna check, but if u don't that's still coolio :>


End file.
